Last week was super stressful for me. I started college, I lost my dog, my child had surgery, and I did it all while dealing with my normal stressful things, a broken toe that’s still healing, and being sick with a cold that turned into a sinus infection and bronchitis. Needless to say, I did not go on any dates last week. I did manage a few brief erotic encounters and intimacy of the snuggly kind. That totally counts.

But by the start of this week I was feeling totally depleted. Joel held the fort at home and Harold took me down to the cabin. For five hours he held me while I grieved and ranted and searched my soul. It gave me time to release all of the tension that had been building and threatened to explode. Usually, we would spend at least half of the time making love, but this emotional sharing seemed more important. It’s not that we didn’t make out. We are always sexual together on some level, but he just held the space for me process. That’s more intimate than anything else I know.

We went to run errands. More difficult emotions came up. We were in Costco when my anger finally hit surface. We probably made a spectacle, me raging, then us passionately kissing, then more arm waving. It felt good to express anger and still feel loved and supported.

By the time we got off the freeway on our way home, I had broken down into heaving sobs – the deep cathartic kind of crying, releasing more grief than the tears that sometimes escape and run silently down my cheeks. That moment suddenly made everything real. Harold kissed me and I felt him all the way down to my toes.

It funny that we can spend the day together, naked, sharing our thoughts and still not be in sync sexually. But that one moment in the car, when I found my emotional center, we suddenly melted into each other and all we knew was pure desire. My need to fuck him was intense. Harold starting driving again. We weren’t far from home, but when you need someone like that…

I couldn’t keep my hands off of him. I gripped his erection through his jeans, my hands restlessly moving from cock to back of the head to nipples. He captured my hand and kissed the back, sucked at my fingers. Our pull to each other was threatening Harold’s ability to drive. We had to pull over.

Even before the car came to a full stop in the small dark deserted public parking lot, we were passionately making out. His hand was down my shirt, trying to liberate my breasts, or at least my nipples. We scrambled to find a way to make sex work in the car.

We’ve done this a few times before, but always in larger vehicles, not a sedan. And I’d always been wearing a skirt without panties, with shoes that slip off, so it was easy to straddle him. This night I was wearing tights and an orthopedic walking boot. Not exactly streamlined. No matter, we’ve always been resourceful. I quickly calculated positions. The backseat was out because it was loaded with our Costco purchases. There was no room on the driver’s side. I ask Harold if he could moved over to my side.

You have to understand that this was urgent. We were desperate. When I managed to pull down my skirt and tights and not get my boot hung up in Harold’s feet, it was a minor miracle. When I sat down and guided his cock into my cunt, it was a palpable relief. The car creaked and groaned as we rocked back and forth, but after a minute, we both knew it wasn’t quite right. We needed a different angle and our options were limited.

Looking around, I devised a brilliant plan. I crawled over to the driver’s side, clothing and boots still hampering me. That didn’t give me enough room, so I opened up the door. Harold pushed to his knees, trying to get into position behind me. There I was, with my ass in the air and my head out the open door, Harold crouched over and behind me trying to find an angle where he could insert his cock, when I noticed that the car was moving.

It was fairly dark and it was raining. The car moved so slowly at first that I wasn’t sure if I was moving or the car – just that slight disorientation of movement. When I realized that we were indeed moving, we had a mad scramble, a tangle of limbs and clothing and car. Harold found the parking brake and pulled it on. We must have released it in our rush to fuck. Or perhaps never set it in the first place. We only rolled about a foot, and the curb would have caught us, but the absurdity of the situation was immense. We laughed and kissed, the urgency of our ardor broken.

We sighed and straighten our clothes, drove back home to the people waiting for us. I thought to myself that there seems to be more than one way to release tension. Maybe an occasional bout of free fall isn’t so bad. I have a lover who will stand by me through my worst stuff. We have so much fun together. Most of all, Harold and I, after seven years together, still have moments where we want each other so bad, SO BAD, that we can’t drive two more miles to be home and fuck. Really, what else do I need?

I had a date with the most wonderful man. I’m full of glowing excitement – equal parts desire, contentment, and anticipation. He seems to understand perfectly how to seduce me, or at least he is content to let our relationship unfold as it will. I spent days looking forward to our date and I have spent days savoring the memory. Yes, it was that good.

I like that we made decisions about our date together, but it was obvious that Woody got a lot of enjoyment out of my pleasure. I think that this is always a good sign in a potential lover. It’s also true that when I am happy, I spill joy out over everyone around me. We both had a good time.

I’ve been getting to know Woody for a few months, but this was our first time spent alone together. I appreciate that he has let me go at my own speed. We sent many emails back and forth before we met. I had to cancel our first meeting because of a family emergency and he quite understood. He’s been supportive of my recent struggles with thyroid problems, sending me reading materials and reassuring messages.

Harold and I went together to meet Woody in person the first time, which cut down on my anxiety over meeting people who found me on the Internet. They even hit it off, talking so much that I sometimes felt excluded. Woody and his wife had my family over for dinner and it was totally awesome. People who genuinely like my kids get super bonus points. It was a really fantastic evening.

The thing that is really working for me here, is that I feel accepted for who I am in the context of my life as it is now. Woody listens and he also shares about himself openly and honestly. I know about his other lovers, and I assume I will probably meet them at some point. I think he is building a community of brilliantly sexy people and I find that (and him) appealing. This is how I believe polyamory should work.

We shared a date, which rates as one of my best ever. We both love blues music, so we listened to some in the car. We are also both extremely sensuous, so sharing good food over brunch was basically when we started to make love. I adore that he noticed my fondness for all things bubbly and made sure we factored mimosas into our plans.

We held hands during the vampire movie I waited months to see, a warm champagne buzz releasing any lingering tension from my week, erotic energy building in the connections between our fingers as we sat in the dark. I left the theater feeling changed somehow. Big raindrops kissed my skin and released an earthy scent from the dry pavement. The drive home seemed too short.

I invited Woody in when he brought me home. I asked him up to my room to see my art. No, really, my art for SEAF was hanging on the wall! As I got my courage up to sign my artwork, I kissed him for luck. It became a very passionate kiss. A very probing tongues, groping hands kind of kiss. A kiss that penetrated my center and left my cunt wet and his cock hard under his jeans. A good kiss.

I had one of those moments where I had to use a brain fogged with lust to make a decision about what to do next. While I was enjoying our interaction, I knew my teen was downstairs and that it might be weird for her. I think because I was enjoying myself so much, I wanted to wait before going further. I like to draw things out. I like the anticipation. Lusting after someone is fun. My imagination is my greatest sex organ, right? We have time. So I showed him to the door.

I hope he had a fabulous masturbation session, thinking of me while he got off. I was certainly thinking of him. And about next time…

I never thought I’d see the day, but I actually met a man I’m interested in dating on OKCupid. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to date. I’ve never really done it before — what I’m used to is letting friendships evolve over time into sexual and/or romantic relationships. As a result, I’m finding my current interest rather excruciating. Getting to know each other is fascinating, and playing with our mutual attraction is exciting, but we haven’t earned each other’s trust yet. I’m tearing myself up inside over this guy with whom I’ve spent exactly 90 minutes in person.

I’m really taken with him – he’s intelligent, very physically fit, good looking with a gorgeous smile, spiritual without being religious, a good communicator, and deeply respectful. I was impressed when I asked him for more photos and he didn’t send me a cock shot. Perhaps my favorite thing is that he’s very sexual without seeming desperate or sticky. He wants a chance to explore his sexuality and this appeals to me on many levels. I get so much pleasure out of helping people open up and showing them new things.

But not having established trust is getting to me. I don’t know how to find a good balance. My desire wants to just go for it, make a sexual connection, and use it to build trust later. The rest of me is freaking out a bit. I’ve been through date rape, and I certainly don’t want to put myself in that position again.

I sense that he’s not being totally forthcoming with me. I can’t find him in a Google search, which may mean that he’s being private online or it may mean that he isn’t who he says he is. He told me that he wouldn’t want me to blog about him because he likes his secrecy. I’m violating that request right now because it’s essential to me to be able to talk about my feelings and my process. I’m thinking about being alone with him, vulnerable and intimate, without really knowing who he is. How do I know he can be held accountable? What is a reasonable amount of faith before you have a solid foundation of trust?

He tells me he’s married, been married for over 20 years. They’ve just recently opened their marriage. This could be a very good thing for me, since I am so busy with my family that I have very little time and energy to give to another relationship. But here is my warning bell: he and his wife evidently have a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy. He doesn’t want to meet my other partners and he won’t be telling his wife about us. He seemed confused by me trying to explain that I tell my husbands everything. Actually, I am unlikely to share his private confessions, but I would certainly be telling them about my emotional experience and the overall shape of the relationship. I don’t want to have to keep one part of my life separate from the others, and I doubt I’m even capable of it. I am profoundly suspicious of anything that must be kept secret. How, for example, do I know that I’m not causing harm to his wife?

There is also the body hair issue. After it became clear that we are attracted to each other, he asked me if I shave below the neck. While I’ve shaved in the past (body, head, everything at one time or another), I am currently really enjoying my body in a natural state. I love my hairy armpits. I trim my pubic hair, but I won’t be getting a Brazilian any time soon. I think I look ridiculous with a bald pussy and I hate going down on someone all stubbly. I don’t find shaved genitals attractive in general, but I do respect people’s right to do things they like with their body.

For him, however, this seems to be a deal breaker – he says he can’t get turned on if his partner has body hair below the neck. In his favor, he has wanted to know why it seems important to me not to shave. He is respectfully waiting to see what I want to do. Do I want to modify my body to make him happy? Don’t I want him to like me the way I am?

I suspect he may want clandestine sex. An affair. I understand the allure of something forbidden, a kind of exciting shame-fueled sexual adventure. I understand the attraction to the fetish-like taboo of secretive sex, but this is so not me. He says that he’s interested in my passion for normalizing sex, so I’m curious to see if he’s willing to step out of his comfort zones to meet me. But how far should I go to meet him? Where is the right balance between pleasing a prospective lover and holding your own boundaries?

I’ve been enjoying our interactions – mostly texting or sexting. I’m having fun! Sadly, this week is super busy. I had to cancel the second meeting we had scheduled because I am so overwhelmed with holidays, work, and child wrangling. Since I broke that appointment, I haven’t heard from him. Maybe he’s giving me space in this crazy chaotic time. Maybe he’s given up on me. Maybe, like me, he’s trying to figure out how to trust.

I’m not sure how to do this dating thing. I’ve had sex with strangers in the heat of the moment, but never this negotiation of preferences and boundaries, dreaming of steamy relationship potential while trying to navigate all the risk factors. Figuring out public transportation in a foreign country has caused me less stress than this. And yet… I want him. I want him to meet my challenge.

The changes sweeping the United States regarding gay rights make me ecstatically happy. I still start to cry joyous tears, knowing that my gay friends and loved ones deserve to have the same rights as everyone else ­– because it doesn’t matter who you love, it only matters that you love. I am not gay, but I know that defending human rights benefits all of humanity. I feel blessed to live in such times.

I also feel the weight of history. The Stonewall Riots happened before I was born. I am overwhelmed by grief and gratitude for all of the people who were unafraid to be themselves in the face of adversity and condemnation. It’s been a long hard road and we aren’t there yet.

There are still many things that need to change. I have the solution, but no one wants to hear it… We need to eliminate all of the boxes we put ourselves into. That would make it easier to treat everyone with respect. It’s not a new idea, living in a society based on dignity for every individual, regardless of the countless ways we choose to express ourselves. This is what I advocate for: stop classifying yourself and just BE.

To be clear, I am deeply thankful to the many people who fought for me to have the ability to classify myself however I want. As writer Octavia Butler said, “People have the right to call themselves whatever they like. That doesn’t bother me. It’s other people doing the calling that bothers me.” What I am looking at now is the next step, the goal we set ourselves after gay marriage is legalized across the nation.

This is what we do: we let go. We let go of our closely protected identities. We work toward a society where everyone is embraced with dignity. We are all the same. We are all different. We are all one people. Remember the many paths we walked to get here, honor the souls of those who died for change, then let go of the things that box you in.

I know this is not an easy task. We all have a natural instinct to belong. We explore who we are by defining ourselves – gender, race, age, orientation, religion, medical condition, family status, wealth, privilege, profession, sexual interests, hobbies, style of dress… these all give us a handle by which to know ourselves. These categories fix an identity for each of us by which we think we know ourselves and by which others can believe they know how to relate to us.

Like most people, I have struggled with my own identity. At 20 I was whole-heartedly in love with a woman and ready to start a family. Neither of us was gay, but we loved each other. If we had managed to live together, we would have been perceived as gay. We might have joined the lesbian community to have the support we needed and been happy as long as we didn’t also date men. Obviously, you can’t date men and still be a lesbian. My girlfriend couldn’t stand the thought of being perceived as a lesbian and we parted ways. Even now, with my two husbands and five children, I think of the path my life could have taken. No matter who I am with, I am still the same person, still attracted to people of all genders.

Just in the sexual arena, I see examples of how limiting identity can be – lesbians who are shunned when they decide to date men, trans people whose orientation changes when they finally transition, gay men who simply adore breasts but have no way to act on that interest, and people who desperately want to explore a sexual fetish but can’t ask their partner for fear of being rejected as a freak. If we treated all people with dignity, we could minimize the pain associated with each of these situations. People are unique. We can’t assume that we know who someone is because we can read the label on their box.

Breaking the boxes has another benefit – personal growth. When you stop saying that you can’t, anything is possible. One of my favorite games is to prove Harold wrong every time he says he doesn’t like something. Limits are largely artificial. Identity might help make the world more manageable for a while, but often gives us information about what we shouldn’t be as much as what we are.

It’s not wrong to choose an identity. We identify out of fear or pride, out of love or hate, out of strength or weakness. It’s important to know who we are and the history of those who came before us. I want to honor the work that made it possible for me to be open about who I am and recognize that there are many places in the world where human rights are not granted to all people. Yet I am asking that those of you who are ready, take the next step in the evolution of humanity.

The world is not ready to embrace universal dignity yet. This is obvious. But that shouldn’t let that stop us from adopting it. The people who are ready are often distracted by our differences, our in-groups, our need to defend our niche against a hateful world. We have had a few role models, but they tend to die young. I’m not asking for martyrs, just people willing to break the boxes and live openly as themselves. People ready to stop agonizing over where they fit in and start figuring out how they can help. People willing to let dignity lead their lives. Will you join me?

The doctor called to tell me that my sexually transmitted disease screening results were in. Although her tone was rushed and annoyed, she drew out the suspense as though this were the elimination finale of a dance competition. Numb with anxiety, I played along, making polite noises to cover my fears that my life was about to change forever. After making it clear that she resented me rejecting a consultation and simply opting for lab tests, she let me know the outcome.

HSV1 (“oral herpes”)…negative.
HSV2 (“genital herpes”)…negative.
Chlamydia…negative.
Gonorrhea…negative.
Syphyllis…negative.
HIV…negative…but… I drew in my breath wondering about that “but.” WTF? She explained that the lab had taken it upon themselves to perform some super special HIV test, that she would never have asked for, and the results wouldn’t be in for a couple of more weeks. But basically, I tested negative for the things we asked for. The doctor implied that I had wasted her time with my anxiety and that testing for STD’s is not necessary for someone as “low risk” as I am.

This is not my regular practitioner. The ARNP that I normally see has been out of the office for a week. I miss her. If I had been able to talk to my GP about my concerns, I think all would have been well. She knows me and my poly family. She has always treated me with respect and care for my triggers around health care and sexuality. She once took 90 minutes to personally walk me through a pelvic exam. I should have waited for her to be back, but I needed to know as soon as possible, so instead I got this condescending and ignorant doctor.

It took several conversations with the nurse to get my desires across to the triage nurse. I explained my risk factors and expressed my level of anxiety. I declined to come in because I would have to bring 3 young children with me and I knew that it wouldn’t reassure me the way that lab tests would. What was there to look at anyway? I was asymptomatic by all accounts. They probably thought they could just talk me down.

Instead, I think I came close to making the nurse cry. I know that I was shaking, furious that anyone would have the audacity to claim that they knew more about my emotional state, my sexuality, or my body than I do. I hung up and the doctor called, making nice and insisting that of course the lab was always an option if I really wouldn’t do the right thing.

I understand that medical professionals don’t want to order unnecessary tests, but I can’t understand why my request to get tested was such a power struggle. I’m also not sure why I’m seen as low risk for STD/STI. I have unprotected sex with partners who in turn have sex with other people. In reality, I probably am fairly safe. I am usually comfortable with my level of risk, but from time to time I need to know where I stand. This current round of anxiety was based in part to reacting to one of my partners starting a new sexual relationship, as well as knowing that I have had some exposure to STD/STI recently. Also, I hadn’t been tested in 2 and a half years. I needed to know.

I’m curious what my medical clinic’s STD risk factors are. No one ever asked me. I imagine that as a 40 year old married woman with 5 kids, it’s assumed that I don’t have sex. I would guess that I am safer in my polyamorous lifestyle than women whose husbands have secret affairs. I have a lot of trust in my partners and we communicate about these things.

I feel really lucky about that list of negatives, but I know that it can change at any time. My health is important to me. I’m going to keep taking reasonable precautions, not only for me, but everyone in my sexual circle. At the same time, I don’t want to let anxiety over STD/STI cripple my sex life. Sex is sometimes too messy for a compulsive hand washer. My partners wear gloves when they put their fingers inside me. I know that there is comfortable balance between safer sex and pursuit of pleasure.

In the future, I think I’ll just go to a STD testing clinic rather than relying on a general practitioner. I don’t want to have to defend my lifestyle or my right to get tested. What about you? How long since your last STD/STI testing?

I’m turned on, really in the groove, and I’m fantasizing about the things I hope we’re going to do. I feel open and vulnerable. Normally we would just flow together at this point, but I’m going through an anxious patch. I know that I have him completely, any way I want, but I’m scared. He might betray my trust. I convince myself that he will turn me down. Some part of me believes that he will reject me.

Usually I am great at asking for what I want. I feel free to ask because I trust him to say yes or no as his instincts dictate. It’s totally okay for him to turn me down. I know from experience that if he doesn’t want to engage in some aspect of sex that I am proposing, he will say so gracefully and with love. We are partners. We read each other’s energy pretty well, but that doesn’t mean that we stop talking. Our lovemaking includes a steady dialogue – constantly checking in to make sure we are in sync.

It so frustrating to hit these patches of insecurity on my part. Fear of rejection strangles the flow of energy between us so I’m not able to feel his love wash through me. I stop expressing myself as well as I might, although I think I’m over communicating. My brain gets drunk on fear: I want him so much! I am so turned on! He can’t possibly want me as much as I want him. Why isn’t he connecting with me? He must not want me. He must think that I am too sexual for lusting after him so much. I’m so hurt that he’s rejecting me. I’m going to pull back, keep to myself…

If I go too far down this path, I lose my ability to give honest consent when my partner asks for what he wants. I am so afraid of rejection that I will do whatever I think will make him happy. I want his approval so much, I sacrifice my true desires, even though that’s what he actually wants to connect with. Fear makes us do some some interesting things. I’m working hard to acknowledge my fear without giving it too much power. I need him to be able to trust my yes as well as my no.

I must be sending out the biggest mixed messages right now. We’ve talked through this many times. He’s good to me. This morning he took charge of me, getting right in my face and telling me how much he loves me. Kissing me hard until I started to respond, letting my desire override my fear. He wants me.

The truth is, even when we are in solid trusting relationships with good communication, it can be terribly difficult to ask for what we want. Intimacy is about emotion. Of course we sometimes feel afraid to reveal the desires that are closest to our hearts. What would we do if the person we love wounded us in that vulnerable place? It seems easier to not take chances.

Working through that fear has been one of the greatest things I’ve done. I’m still occasionally terrified of rejection, but I recognize when I’m afraid. Owning my stuff and practicing good communication skills is immensely helpful, but feelings are going to pop up from time to time. I still need to work through it, reminding myself that I have what I want and everything is okay. The fact that my partner will sit with me while I figure it out means that I get through the emotions faster and back to the sex!

So I keep asking for the wild and perverted things I want. Despite the fear of rejection, it’s empowering to be honest about my desires. I want to share myself in a real and concrete way. I want to be accepted for who I am. Talking about fear of rejection with my partner lets us use the experience to grow together. I choose to open my heart, because I would rather risk injury than never feel love at all.

Polyamory, sharing my life with many partners, has brought me a lot of joy. I worked hard to help create a complex and supportive family with my partners and it has paid off. Not only am I happy, but I get to see my partners’ happiness with other people. When it all works, we are sparking creativity and growth in each other all of the time. It’s beautiful. Fantastic. Amazing. I just have one gripe.

Darling, don’t kiss me when you’ve just been going down on someone else. It’s not about logic. I know, it doesn’t really make sense. Yes, I might have licked them at some point before, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve chosen to put my face in their genitals at this time. It’s different if we’re all in bed together, but if I haven’t shared in the pleasure, I don’t want to reheat the left-overs.

It’s not that I dislike genitals. Bodies are lovely and fun to explore! I enjoy bodily fluids in the right context, I just have this one little boundary. Ironically, I don’t mind kissing you after you’ve been worshipping my cunt. I like tasting myself on your lips. It’s not good if you still smell like pussy the next day though. What I’m saying is that I have a time limit, after which, I am squicked out by you kissing me while your face is covered in juices.

To be fair, it’s not just jism that makes me flinch when I see you mouth coming at me. I’m going to be a bit distracted by milk or jam or anything else clinging to your lip. I want to make out with you, not your breakfast. Or whoever you ate before breakfast.

I love you. Kissing you feels warm and wonderful, but not if I’m wondering where your face has been as you move in for a deep smootch. I know that there is not always time or opportunity to bathe between giving head and greeting me, but if you want that toe-curling, earthshaking experience, you gotta be clean. I don’t mind an intimate hug until you can wash your face. I’ll wait.

Anyone who thinks that being polyamorous means not feeling jealousy, is sadly mistaken. I don’t often feel jealous, but it does come up – and often not in the ways that I expect. I want my partners to be happy and fulfilled. I get off on them getting off even when it isn’t with me and even if they are doing things that I wouldn’t be into. But I do occasionally get jealous.

Harold and I did get a chance to play with Blyss and Holt. It was fantastic. I got to see a side of Blyss that I haven’t seen before, her very excellent Toppy side, as she took fantastic care of a totally adorable Holt. I got to admire how beautiful Holt is and run my fingers over his gorgeous skin. We got to explore CBT technique. I love teaching moments. Harold helped me come while I had a person on each nipple. Totally ecstatic. We spent hours in a casual sexual environment.

I felt very good about the whole thing – close to everyone, sexy, comfortable, happy. It wasn’t until I looked at the photos that I felt jealous. No, thinking back, I believe I felt jealous just after, but it manifested as a bout of extreme insecurity about being parted from Harold. See, Harold, to his dismay, is not very attracted to men. He would like to be more physically attracted to men. He’s had a bit of a crush on Holt since Blyss showed us pictures. I don’t mind that at all. I think it’s sweet.

I want Harold to explore every bit of his sexuality. Fuck every mountain, leave no stone unfucked, and all that. We’re good for each other like that. I’ve done my best to help Harold explore gender in the context of our sex play. I’m a very good man to his woman. It works. I was honored to help hold the space for him to explore with Holt. I know that the safety of having me there, the grounding of our relationship, made it possible for Harold to be comfortable making love with Holt.

At the time, I was so caught up in the energy that all I felt was the glory of the moment. Later I looked at the pictures. The lens didn’t capture how sweet it was for me to watch Harold. Nearly every shot has Harold looking at Holt with longing. No, that’s not true. That’s the jealousy talking.

My jealousy is two-fold. First, I am jealous because I don’t have a cock and balls and I never will. Harold wants something sexually that I can not provide. Realistically, I don’t expect to be everything for him, but emotionally I feel sad that there are places I cannot meet him. Second, I feel jealous because what I see in the photos is Harold pursuing Holt. Again, logically I know that Harold pursued me, but my lizard brain says that I had to stalk him.

Jealousy often comes up around something that I perceive as a lack, either a lack I can’t meet for my partner that someone else can, or an emotional lack in myself that I believe can’t be met. Paying attention to these feelings can be really helpful in working out areas that might otherwise become grounds for resentment in the relationship.

Talking to Harold about my jealousy is incredibly helpful. He doesn’t judge me for my emotions, but helps me see them for what they are. He’s very responsive which makes me feel loved and supported. It’s important too, because I’m realizing how I felt after the fact, to know that my feelings of jealousy don’t have anything to do with Blyss or Holt, or even Harold. These feelings are natural and normal. Even for poly folk.

Occasionally I make mistakes. This time I even kind of knew that I was making mistakes. I’m choosing to call it a learning experience, but I am suffering a bit for this knowledge. I feel foolish, but I guess I might as well share what happened just in case I can save someone else from the same mistakes. Like so many interesting stories, it started with anal sex…

A few days ago, Harold and I had a date. We had been without a regular date for several weeks, so we were eager to be as deeply inside each other as possible. We did a lot of talking, catching up and syncing our energies. There was a fair amount of sensual play – snuggling, kissing, caressing, then licking, sucking, and fingering. But we both wanted anal play.

Please keep in mind that this was only our 3rd or 4th time having anal sex where I would be receiving. I tried to figure out how we could fuck each other in the ass at the same time. I had a few ideas, but we couldn’t do what we really wanted. We settled for Harold being penetrated with a toy and then fucking me. Lots of lube and anal play ensued. Then we got to the point where his penis was about to enter my back door.

Photo by David Steinberg

We were both very turned on by this time, so I think our judgement was impaired. I did suggest that he wear a condom so we could just strip it off and not worry about clean up, since we were not anywhere near running water. He insisted that he was going to fill my ass with cum. (And here I made my first mistake!) I was so tickled by this idea that I believed him and didn’t insist on the condom.

He slowly entered me and it felt incredible. Before long he was pounding me hard. We fucked for maybe five minutes, and while it was beautiful and pleasurable, neither of us was coming this way. I added clitoral stimulation with a vibrator and came like crazy, but Harold still wasn’t close to an orgasm. So we decided we wanted to switch to penis-in-vagina sex.

I hope you can see where this is going…

Harold pulled out. There was no mess. But I wasn’t going to just let that cock go from my ass to my pussy. Not happening. I needed to clean him off somehow (and remember that we are without indoor plumbing) so I grabbed the first thing I could think of (this would be my second mistake) – some antimicrobial gel. I slathered gel all over Harold’s cock, making sure that it wasn’t irritating his skin and joking about what a bad lube it would make.

Now, I am a very sensitive girl. I can’t use most lubricants. I’ve tried a bunch and then a bunch more. Most lubes are very irritating to my vagina and many of them have a tendency to give me yeast infections. I don’t know what I was thinking when I put that gel on Harold’s penis, other than I desperately wanted to fuck him and I didn’t want to get a bladder or kidney infection by spreading fecal bacteria anywhere near my urethra. Hand sanitizer kills 99.99% of the most common germs that make you sick, right?

I did wait as long as I could for the alcohol to evaporate – perhaps a whole minute before I slid onto his cock. Then we fucked like crazy until we both came. Everything seemed good and wonderful. Until a day or two later.

Photo by David Steinberg

I couldn’t figure out why I had such a bad yeast infection. Normally, as soon as I have any sign of an infection, I use boric acid capsules for a few days and all is right with my body. This time, it’s not helping at all. I start trying every trick I know of and a few I’ve never tried before to get my body back in balance. Finally, today it dawns on me – the hand sanitizer killed everything in my cunt, all of the microbial organisms, even the good bacteria that is supposed to be there. And then we filled my vagina with semen and all of the sugars it’s made up of.

Perfect. What was I thinking? Ah, I wasn’t thinking, but I am now. Harold and I have talked it through and we have a plan for the next time we want to have anal sex. We will use a condom and gloves for any anal penetration. And never, will I ever, get antimicrobial gel anywhere near my pussy. Call it learning the hard way.

I met Reid Mihalko when I was down in San Francisco a couple of weeks ago. We were at OpenSF (an amazing non-monogamy conference), at a gathering for presenters and staff to relax and unwind after the weekend. I knew who he was, of course. He’s the kind of guy whose reputation precedes him. After I saw Reid’s videos on Passionate U, I believe my response was that I wanted to put him in my mouth. I did my research, so I knew something about him. He was someone I really hoped to meet on our trip.

Within seconds of being introduced, we were flirting. In fact, I was sticking my hands into his pants pockets. I liked him immediately because not many people are as physical as I am. Reid is very funny, sweet, and personable. He’s a natural storyteller. He’s also smart. Reid’s responsible for the Sex Geek t-shirts that all the cool kids are wearing. And he has a lot to say about sex and relationships.

Not only did I get to meet Reid, I arranged to do a quick video interview. I didn’t get a chance to ask him the all-important boxers-or-briefs question (I imagine he’s probably commando anyway), but I did get him talking about some things I care about. The first segment focuses on flirting, then we discuss how pleasure can help heal pain, and finally kissing! Here is the first of the videos, with more to follow: